


Self Calibration

by The_Reverend



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Gaslighting, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, self-gaslighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22236781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Reverend/pseuds/The_Reverend
Summary: The asset needs a handler.It's not torture if you do it to yourself, right?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 16
Kudos: 62
Collections: Hydra Holiday Trash Party Gift Exchange 2019





	Self Calibration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teejcandraw (roryrhys)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryrhys/gifts).



> This is a gift for the very patient teejcandraw, who requested gaslighting, (so so much gaslighting). In fact, it should probably be tagged with self-gaslighting. Thank you also to buckybleeds for infinite patience.
> 
> It ran a little off the rails, so I hope that it still pleases.

_Homecoming---------------------------------------------------------------_

The days that follow the destruction of the helicarriers, the downfall of Shield and Hydra, and more importantly, the brief reunion of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, are absolute chaos.

Nat’s infodump is wreaking havoc on both sides of the law, with agencies attempting to purge and convict the hidden Hydra operatives, while loyalists scatter to presumably evade justice, but Sam knows better. They aren’t hiding and licking their wounds. They are hiding and regrouping. 

Restructuring. 

What had that bastard Rumlow said? _Cut off one head…_

His sulking is interrupted by a groan from the head he was currently most worried about. Sam is quickly on his feet clutching Steve’s hand, the one without the I.V lines.

And wasn’t that a thing? He’d watched in horror and fascination as Steve’s body had slowly repulsed the I.V. cannula, forcing the nurses to reinsert it every few hours.

But Steve needed the drugs and nutrients they were pumping into his battered body because it has been two days and Captain America is still unconscious. 

_Today makes three._ Sam reminds himself, searching Steve’s face for any further sign of him waking up. 

How bad was it, if the impervious Captain America was taking three days to wake? If the damage to his system was that bad, what shape would he be in once he woke?

Despite the extent of his injuries, he knows Steve will want to move on the information Sam holds the second he wakes up. That worries him almost as much as his friend’s current state.

Seeing no further signs of awareness, Sam squeezes his hand and sits back down.

“It’s okay, man. You take all the time you need to heal. I’ll be right here. Everything else can wait. I know you won’t believe that, but Nat’s off taking care of loose ends and stuff. You just rest.”

Deciding to take his own advice, Sam tilts his head back and closes his eyes.

He is awoken a few hours later by a deep voice rumbling “On your left.”

Relieved, Sam turns to see Steve’s blue eyes studying him from the bed. “Hey man,” he croaks, “Good to have you back.”

“How long-” Steve attempts to sit up and winces. Sam is at his side instantly.

“Man, take it easy, you should probably wait for the doctors -”

Summoned by the change in Steve’s vitals, a doctor and nurse materialize to take him through the Glasgow coma scale. Satisfied with his awareness, Steve turns back to Sam as they continue to fuss over and around his body.

“Tell me everything that’s happened.”

“Steve, you’ve been here three days, you might want to just-”

_"Three days!?"_

"Well technically today makes three, so more like two and a half really."

Steve huffs and looks away, exasperated. 

"Fine. Tell me what I need to do to get out of here." He turns his attention to the medical personnel. 

"Captain Rogers, while we're delighted you're feeling better, we can't in good conscience let you leave anytime soon. You were shot three times, stabbed, had serious internal bleeding, and nearly drowned. You've just woken up from a three -"

The doctor shrivels under Steve's glare. "Sorry, two and a half day coma, and we really need to run further tests to be certain-"

"I'm certain." Steve interrupts, swinging his legs over the side of the bed with a grimace. "Send me with whatever pills or supplies you feel are necessary, but I'm leaving here in the next hour. Sam here is a paramedic. He can tend to any wounds that remain. Thank you for helping me heal, I do appreciate it, but you really can't keep me here any longer."

He rises to his full height for intimidation purposes, which are undermined a bit by the pallor of his skin and the hospital gown.

The nurse is about to join in on the offensive when Sam holds up his hand. 

"You see this? This is Captain America mode he's in now. You won't be able to change his mind. But I will stay with him and make sure he takes care of his injuries while he's doing whatever stupidly heroic thing he's about to hare off to do. Alright?"

He looks back and forth between Steve and the hospital staff meaningfully, placating them both. 

The doctor sighs, grumbles something about goddamn superheroes, and nods at Sam. 

"You stay with him, though. Ideally we'd run a brain scan as well as several other tests, but I guess you'll have to do."

To Steve he adds, "Try not to get punched in the head for at least a couple days? And if you lose consciousness, or start hallucinating, it's straight back here, okay?"

"Yes sirs." Steve mumbles, going into cooperative mode now that he's gotten what he wanted. 

"And you are leaving here in a chair, just like everyone else." The nurse adds hastily.

"Yes, of course." Steve is nodding vigorously, already looking around for clothes. 

"Lemme call the others, tell them you're awake. I'll have someone bring clothes and a car." Sam is already tapping into his phone.

"We'll get your supplies ready, Captain Rogers, but you are being discharged ADA, understand?"

"Yes, I do. Thank you again. Sam will keep an eye on me but there's a situation I need to attend to. Captain America has been down too long already." He tries to project his voice to be deep and persuasive.

The doctor sighs again, long-suffering, and turns to Sam. " _Please_ try not to let him run right into another fight. If he has to go, fine, but take it a little easy." He stares at Steve sternly. You're still a human being and you were very injured already. "

Steve thinks about what caused most of his injuries, ~~Bucky~~ the Winter Soldier, and every second he is forced to spend here is agonizing. 

_Benign_ \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A car arrives, sleek and black, and surprisingly driven by Clint.

He grins and salutes as Steve gingerly gets into the back. "Good to see you up, Cap! Tasha said you might need some help."

Sam looks at Steve pointedly. "See? I told you we were working on things while you were out! You don't have to do everything yourself." He points at Clint. "Backup." Then to himself. "Mission assist."

"Okay." Steve grunts, apparently unable to get comfortable sitting up. Sam frowns.

"Thank you, I get it, I'm not alone. But that doesn't remove the fact that every minute we waste he could be - or they could be…"

He squirms around some more.

"Read me in, guys." Clint says as they merge with the traffic. “Nat told me some stuff and I'm real sorry about not being here, but what can I do? And what's the time limit? And yes this car is clean or I wouldn't ask."

*************************************************************************************************************

Sam waits until they’re back at his place to deliver the news he’s been sitting on. 

“So there’s me, you, Natasha, Steve _once he’s better,_ is there anyone else you trust enough to bring in to help us, Steve?”

Steve looks up from the couch suspiciously. “Well, half the people I know turned out to be Hydra. Why?”

“That’s just it.” Sam says in what he hopes is a calming tone. “I don’t think that we are going to be the only ones looking for your friend.”

Steve sits up now. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, ah, I don’t think Hydra is as broken as some would like to think. The area has been pretty thoroughly canvassed, and neither Pierce nor Rumlow’s body was recovered.”

“Fuck.”

“Which means they’re both likely still alive and were extracted. And their number one priority assuming they live is going to be getting to him. And to you.”

“So we have to get to him first.”

“ _We_ don’t do anything, Steve. You go out there looking for him, you’re an instant target. They want to eliminate you almost as much.”

“Good, that will speed things up. Let them come to us.”

“Good God, we just picked you up from the hospital and already your plan is to use yourself as a human trap. Fantastic.”

“Sam, are you going to help me or not?

“Yes Steve, we’re all with you. There’s no way we’re letting you do this alone.”

“So where would he go, Steve?” Asked Clint. “Where would _you_ go?”

“I’d go looking for answers, some sort of solid evidence, proof of what was real.” Steve ticks off. “If I thought I couldn’t trust my mind, I’d look for confirmation of _something.”_

_Rusted-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

They find Bucky glitching out at the Rogers Boyhood Home Museum.

It was the first place they’d looked after he’d narrowly slipped them at the Smithsonian.

But the others were coming as well. The Smithsonian had cameras.

The thwopthwopthwop of helicopter blades overhead had raced him to the apartment.

Behind the velvet rope, Bucky sits on the bed. Displayed artifacts and placards displaced from the bed lie scattered around his feet.

His metal hand is clutching in the starched bed sheets while his flesh fingers move over each other, circling, pacifying.

His eyes are blank and his head is twitching. His lips are moving.

_He’s on their bed, it’s supposed to be theirs, the one they shared later on. But it doesn’t smell like them. It smells like dust and cleaner and ???_

_He's here_

I know you _I knew him_ _I know you_

_I know you_

_We were you were_

_Here here_

_We were here_

_I was here_

_I was_

I was.

“I know you.” Bucky says hesitantly

Steve approaches him cautiously, nodding, murmuring. “You remember this place, you remember me. That's why you're here."

_Before the pain._

"I'm here, with you, now. This is the place we lived. " He is still talking. 

_There was always pain._

“There is always pain.”

“What.”

_Order through pain_

“Order through pain.”

And Steve understands.

The one language the Winter Soldier definitely understands is pain. Hydra ensured it. The way to get to Bucky is to stop protecting him from the pain. He has to use it.

He steps next to ~~Bucky The Wintet Soldier~~ The Asset. He drops a hand onto his shoulder roughly, hoping he’s right. He grips Bucky _no no The Asset_ ’s shoulder tight.

“What kind of pain, did you feel, here, soldier? Feel it now, tell me?” He encourages the twitching man.

“It was, inside pain. In, here, where I see you.” Bucky taps against his head. Looks up at Steve.

_Success._

“Do you see anything else?”

“You...felt pain here too…”

“Yes, Bucky, I felt so much pain here.”

“And I felt pain...for you.”

“That’s right. You feel that, can you feel it now?”

“...yes.”

“That pain is yours. Use if for this next mission. You did well, A -asset.”

The last word breaks him but Bucky - the Asset - inclines his head gratefully.

“Thank you...Sir.”

“...Steve…” Sam cautions from the hall. He’s manning the door. “This is a dangerous idea.”

“They’re not gonna take him, Sam. He’s coming with me. Whatever it takes.” This time, he thinks he knows what to do. What he would never do. Everything had come full circle, and somehow impossibly, Steve was standing with Bucky again in their apartment, like so many dreams he’s had.

But this one must be a nightmare because mirroring them suddenly are Pierce and Rumlow, twisted reflections of themselves, scarred and burned.

And it’s not Steve and Bucky here in the apartment, anyway, they’re Captain America and the Winter Soldier. 

He’d wanted them to return home so badly. Well, be careful what you wish for because here they are and the wrong word is going to destroy everything. Steve must control the pain.

“I believe you have our asset, Captain Rogers.”

Steve snarls and the sound is feral. “His name is Bucky and he is not yours!”

He turns to face what should be dead men.

The Hydra Director wears an eyepatch like Fury now, red wounds tracking behind it. Two long gouges run from under his chin up through his hair, as if a great creature had raked him with a claw. His lip is twisted with white scar tissue.

Steve is jealous it hadn't been his nails to mutilate that smug face.

Pierce was apparently done pretending at decency. He stands dressed for battle, full tac gear, obvious bulletproof vest. His stupid fucking beret wouldn’t stop a bullet or a fist, though.

“Fancy yourself a revolutionary now?” Steve can’t get over the damned beret.

Pierce laughs amiably. “Now? My boy, we were always revolutionary.”

Steve bellows. “I am not your boy, and neither is he.”

“Is he yours, then, Captain?” Pierce chuckles dismissively. “Consider this a stress test.”

The hydra goons in the hallway raise their weapons. “Asset, with me, now! _Mission Report._ ” Pierce barks suddenly.

Steve drops his voice in counterpoint, “Bucky, come on, let’s go.”

The Asset takes one step towards Steve, then freezes.

His entire body locks without his permission. His eyes roll wildly, attempting to fight.

“Steve, please.” he grits.

Pierce crows in victory. “He’s not yours anymore, he’s ours! He’s been ours for a very long time.”

Bucky moans, immobile. 

Brock sneers across at him.

Steve will not let their mangled remains intimidate him. These men have seconds to live.

“You brought low rate Red Skull?” Steve tsks at Rumlow’s wreck of a face. “Haven’t we killed you already?”

“Immortal Hydra. We shall never be destroyed.” He rumbles. “You can call me Crossbones, now, Captain.”

“Thought you were smarter than this Nazi cult bullshit, Rumlow.”

“Im fine being a Nazi as long as I’m on top. And, Cap, I was on top of your Bucky. A lot.” He gloats and Steve steps toward him menacingly. “He was so tight and he cried so much. But the best part, you know what the best part was? When he’d think that I was you. Then he’d get all soft and pliant and he’d beg for it.”

He’s laughing, his face is grotesque but he’s laughing, and Steve is snarling. 

“Beg for you to save him, for you to erase what _they_ did, for you to _love_ him.” Rumlow crows.

The sound that erupts from behind Steve’s teeth is enraged. He's across the room in a blink.

He’s pummeled Rumlow’s face with several furious punches before it registers that Rumlow is still laughing. 

Around the blood and the blows, Rumlow grins. He is delighted.

“I don’t work like that no more.” He growls.

He shows Steve his bloody teeth, then headbutts him.

Steve flies back, past Bucky, into the wall that has a bullshit fake historical calendar pinned to it, jotted with events they’d presumably done in the forties.

He rights himself, surprised. Rumlow shoves his putrid face into his. 

“You can’t hurt me now, Cap! What’re you gonna do? I’m beyond pain!” He chortles and sends Steve into the opposite wall. 

Chunks of plaster and an old metal crucifix fall around him.

Steve is momentarily arrested. How had they gotten that right? They’d actually had a crucifix on that very same wall, important to show they were good Catholic boys to the neighbors… 

Rumlow’s fist whizzes past him into the wall and he recovers. 

Behind him, Bucky is still frozen in place while Pierce screams into his face. 

“Obey me, boy!”

Bucky’s top half lurches forward while his legs don’t move.

“Steeeeve,” he moans, still staring ahead.

Pierce backhands him and his head snaps back. He is snarling at Pierce, but still anchored.

“You're my asset, my tool, my boy!” Pierce is shrieking.

_“Steve,_ Sir _.” Bucky? The Asset?_ intones, barely audible.

_Beyond pain. Order Through Pain._

Steve has to, doesn’t he?

He realizes he’s been frozen with indecision when he comes to and sees Rumlow and Pierce have Bucky sandwiched now. Rumlow's melted face is twisted purple with fury.

“You're a tool, a weapon, an object, you're nothing! You think you’re so skilled and dangerous but I used you as a cockwarmer! A fucktoy!” 

Bucky has enough freedom to whip his head around to disparage Rumlow. “You’re not my handler anymore. You’re a piece of shit.”

It’s the most Steve’s heard him say, which, under the circumstances is arguably hilarious. He beams at the three of them, then turns to Rumlow.

“Tell me how it feels to be killed by your fucktoy, then? Pretty embarrassing for you, I think.” Steve chuckles. “That’s what’s about to happen.” He’s so calm, now that he has this under control.

“The fuck you talking about?” _Crossbones_ rasps. “I got your little punk right here.”

_Punk. How did he know that word?_ No matter, Steve feels positively serene.

Now that he has the way. 

“Not for long.” 

It’s so clear and easy to see what to do, strategy stretching out before him like a battle plan.

Now that the crushing terror of losing Bucky is relieved, he can think. 

He feels power course through him like he did with Erskine. In Italy. In Manhattan. On the bridge when he saw Bucky. Maybe Schmidt had been on to something after all. He _was_ above mortal men now. And he’d show them just how much better than them he is.

He connects eyes with Bucky. He breathes out. He begins.

“Longing.”

“No.” The Asset Bucky dares to whisper.

“Rusted.”

“Steve. You wouldn’t.”

“F-Furnace.”

_“Sir…”_

He somehow maintains guilty eye contact with Bucky as he uses the words, accepts the power. 

The responsibility.

“DaybreakSeventeenBenign.”

“Don’t…” His eyes show sorrow but his reserve is steel as he accepts the charge of the Asset.

“Nine! Homecoming!” Bucky is shaking his head, but he’s wrong. Steve knows what to do. The answer was there all along, Steve had just been too scared to take it. 

“One.”

_oneoneoneone_

“Freightcar.”

Bucky’s lips silently form the final word with him as he seizes into parade rest.

“Soldat.” Steve, _no,_ definitely Captain America, says.

“Ready to comply.” His soldier answers.

Steve smiles.

_Furnace-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Steve has no idea what the individual words trigger alone, but knowing what Hydra would bother to load the soldier with gives him some hints. He can rely on most of them to prompt targeted external aggression. 

“Daybreak,” he tries first.

Bucky twitches and executes the three Hydra operatives in the hallway behind Rumlow and Pierce. Sam is nowhere to be seen, and Steve can't afford to worry about his well-being at the moment.

For a second, Steve, Pierce, and Rumlow are suspended, staring at each other. 

Then they all try to bark orders at once. 

"ASSET!"

"SOLDAT!"

"BUCKY!"

The soldier's head whips around, testing the claims on himself against each other. 

"Bucky." He calls, firmly. "Barnes."

His wild gaze lands on Steve.

He nods, encouraging. "Yes Bucky. It's me, Steve."

"Steve?"

"Yes, Steve." His voice breaks with relief. "Bucky, are you hurt?"

He shakes his head. 

"Good. Are you ready to come with me?"

Haltingly, he nods. 

Steve doesn’t want to take advantage of his newly gained power, but there is no way he’s denying them their revenge.

“Good. Bucky, do you know these men?

"Sir, yes."

"I want you to think about these men, everything you know, everything you feel. Can you do that for me? I am your handler now. These men are your mission. Our mission."

He seems to glitch again, head jerking, eyes squeezing shut.

"We are going to kill these men, you and I, together, now. Do you understand? We are killing them because we want to. For what they did to you. For what they did to me. Do you get it?”

He nods again, eyes wide and sharp.

"Good. So, choose, Bucky, James, Sergeant Barnes, Asset, soldier, any or all of those men, whoever can hear me, listen to me closely."

He places his gun in Bucky’s hand and closes his fingers around it. “Bucky, who do you want to kill? The choice belongs to you.” 

“I choose...who I get to kill...with this gun?”

“You’re my Asset! Obey me!” Pierce is apoplectic in the background. Steve yanks him up from where he’d kicked him down to the floor.

Steve shrugs, maintaining eye contact. Ignoring Pierce. “However you want, the gun was just a suggestion.” 

The Asset nods and pulls a knife from somewhere on his person. Trades it for the gun.

“Oh Asset.” Steve breathes, quite without thinking.

“The...commander.” 

“He is yours, then. Say it, say ‘I am going to kill Brock Rumlow.’”

"I am...going to kill...Brock Rumlow. But-" He squints up at Steve, conflicted. "But he is my -"

“I am your handler! This man is a traitor. He is yours to do with as you see fit. And this man is mine. I will kill Alexander Pierce for us.”

Steve is holding Pierce by the hair now, gun jammed into his chin. He flicks off the eyepatch with his gun hand. “I’m gonna look in your deformed eyes the whole time, you bastard.”

The Asset cocks his head, then like Steve said, looks directly into Brock Rumlow’s eyes as he makes the first cut into his throat. The man gnashes and gurgles and soon blood joins the twisted rivulets on his face as he coughs it up all over himself.

Bucky smiles. “This is for everything, dickhead.” He hisses.

Steve grins at him, jubilant. “Way to go, Buck.” 

Bucky smiles back at him tentatively, and turns back to Rumlow, slashing again. 

“Fu---ou!” The goon spumes, hands clawing at Bucky’s face. Bucky grins, now. 

“Hail this, you piece of shit.” And he stabs until his arm is tired. He knows people can come back to life. Look at him. He’s not taking any chances.

Then he brings his metal hand up and slowly wipes the blood splattered up to his face. It’s done and he’s kneeling in pools of blood and he is sobbing. The knife clatters from his hand. 

He is the Asset again. "Sir, I am malfunctioning." He offers. 

"No you aren’t, Asset, you did great. Now you just have to watch." 

Steve pockets the gun and kneels in front of Pierce.

"I don’t even care about everything else right now. I want you to know that you are dying for what you did to Bucky. For what you took from him, from us."

Pierce sneers at Steve. "You fool. Your precious _Bucky_ wouldn't even be alive if it weren't for Hydra. Without us, you’d have nothing. You owe Hydra _everything_. And you’ll always know that.”

Steve screeches in rage and closes his fists around Pierce’s throat.

He’s never killed in absolute cold blood quite this way. He’d raged, he’d planned, he’d battled. But this is quiet, solitary. Visceral. He feels righteous.

"Watch this man die. He will never hurt you again." He instructs Bucky.

He feels satisfaction as he watches Pierce’s life drain under his hands. His lips purple and his bleared eye bulges.

“Revenge, Alexander.” He rumbles. 

“H-h-h-hail….aggh...Hy-”

“No fucking way.” He smiles down serenely as he strangles Pierce to death, casually snaps his neck. “You die now. Hydra dies. At my hands, finally. Goodbye, Alexander. Enjoy hell.”

He watches to be sure the Hydra director is dead for real. “Bucky,” he calls, “Asset. Come see.”

Bucky shuffles silently forward and peers at Pierce’s lifeless body. He reaches out with his flesh hand, runs it across the lax face. He pokes at the protruding tongue. Then he slides another knife out and stabs it into Pierce’s body, grunting. 

“Good, good work. Is he dead? Be sure. Then come with me.”

Bucky, or the Asset, obediently steps in line behind Steve.

Steve has the power now, and it’s intoxicating. Erskin’s serum and Howard’s machine had given him physical power beyond compare, but he’s been helpless in the face of the only thing that matters. Keeping Bucky. 

He has that power now. He can tell Bucky to come home, to end all this. He can tell Bucky to stay, and he will.

_You can tell him to do a lot of other things_

A voice in the back of his head whispers. But no, he is not here for that. He’s only going to keep Bucky safe. With him. Where he belongs.

_You could tell him to do_ **anything**

The asset comes with Handler Steve back to the tower.

*************************************************************************************************************

The first week is stumbling, unfamiliar, as he learns what is expected of him. Handler Steve said no Chair and so far so good, but he wants a lot from the Asset and it is all different.

He’s used to being compliant while maintenance is done to him. But _Steve_ wants him to do things, things he’s not allowed, and it’s just so much easier when Steve breaks down and orders him: Time to eat, time to sleep, time to clean yourself…

The regimen was much easier to follow here, the strike team members more gentle, patient. But their kindness and reserve only heightens his anxiety. What are they waiting for? Steve still had not made use of the Asset. There was no chair, true, but there was no mission and no punishment. He was not called for recreation. 

And every time he struggled with doing something for himself Steve was right there with merciful hands, helping him, showing him, again and again.

_Benign---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Steve had underestimated the extent of the trigger words. 

Bucky needed to be told to do everything. Steve wonders if this was how Hydra had made him, or if he was only this biddable under the triggers. It was heartbreaking yet at the same time, part of him enjoyed it. It was satisfying, to care for Bucky the ways he once had for Steve.

He’d learned that the Asset needed direct instructions even to carry out routine bodily functions. Accidentally.

He’d installed Bucky next to him on the couch, arm firmly around him. He’d kept up a one sided conversation while they presumably idly watched a film where the people were blue for some reason. Bucky had been squirming around, and glancing at him a lot, which was weird, but everything Bucky did now was weird. He’d asked if Bucky was okay, and he’d nodded. A few minutes later, he’d felt Bucky gasp as his whole body went still, eyes screwed tight shut as if in pain. Then he’d felt warm wetness seep against his pant leg as Bucky began to tremble.

“Bucky, what-”

Bucky had gasped for air so audibly that it cut him off. “Hey, it’s okay, look at me.” Sodden blue eyes snapped up to meet his. “Bucky, what happened?”

“Sir, I’m sorry, Sir. You- I mean, I was not given permission to relieve, and I held it, I swear-” Steve had covered his lips with his hand. 

“Bucky, shh, it’s okay. Can you tell me - you need permission to...use the bathroom?” Bucky looked at him quizzically, calming to match Steve’s even tone, but still shuddering.

“Of course Sir. I know my place.”

“Jesus fuck.” Steve swore, and Bucky had flinched away. “No! It’s okay, I’m sorry, it’s okay. Let’s get you cleaned up and then you can tell me what else you need permission to do.”

“I don’t understand. The asset awaits orders. What is my next mission?”

Steve swore again as he’d helped Bucky out of his sodden pants. He’d paused to look up at Bucky. 

“What do you do when you don’t have orders?”

Bucky’s face scrunched again. “Wait.”

Steve formed the word silently to himself as he turned on the shower. Bucky had flinched at that too.

He’d sighed. “Bucky, do you know where you are?”

“Avengers’ Tower, Captain’s quarters, New York City, New York State, America.” He’d rattled off with the ease of a mission report.

“And do you know who I am?”

“You’re Steve, I read about you in the museum.”

“Is that all?”

“You’re also...my new handler.”

He’d somehow gotten them both under the spray, Bucky completely submissive despite his renewed trembling. He’d started to wash Bucky slowly, carefully. Lovingly.

“What did you read? In the museum? What did it say about me and you?”

“That...you were my handler, again and again. That I am the Asset. Codename Winter Soldier. New codename Bucky. I am to be your friend, although I await instructions as what to what that means. Your orders, sir?”

“That’s not what it said, Bucky. It said we are friends. Always have been. And that I’ll find you, no matter what happens. You’re not an asset and you’re not my thing. You’re my friend. That means I care for you, you for me.” He’d tried to make his voice as soothing as possible.

Bucky twists in his arms to face him. “Let me stay this time, then. They’ll take me back and I don’t want to go. Please keep me here. Please make me yours.” 

“Bucky, you are mine and I am yours.”

He’d shaken his head, frantically. “No - not yet. You must claim me. As my handler.” 

“Bucky, I don’t know what that means.”

“I don’t know what Bucky means and yet I serve you.” He’d fretted, dropping to all fours in the shower. He presented for his handler, acquiescing. “Why haven’t you fucked me, owned me?” 

“Bucky I can’t. I can’t do what you’re asking and I know you don’t understand why.”

He’d broken down then, cried full tears, but Handler Steve had just held him and rocked him and petted his hair and hadn’t claimed him.

_Longing--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

The asset must earn Steve’s claiming. The yawning chasm between them means he has displeased his handler. He has to get his attention back fast or everyone else will fill in for his boredom. He has to show that he has a use, otherwise he'll be traded again. 

"I can please you." He tries, a few days later. Handler Steve is reading on the couch. He’d stripped off his clothes _and they were so different, soft, comfortable_ and crawled across the floor to him.

He presents now, fully, offering everything, trying to look alluring.

He’s made sure the Captain can see all of him. He raises his ass into the air like he’s been taught, enough to show his cock and balls at the same time, all his vulnerable areas on display for plunder.

“Bucky, what-”

He hooks his fingers into himself and pulls. 

He hears Steve’s knees hit the ground behind him. 

"Fucking Christ, Bucky, You don’t, I can’t, What am I supposed to?" Steve cries. He’s horrified at the subservience but cannot deny the pure erotocism of what he’s seeing. Bucky is bending before him, ass gaping, begging.

Good lord what is he supposed to do, he’s staring at fingers both flesh and metal, they pry open Bucky’s hole, glistening, waiting.

The Asset tugs at both sides of his hole, widening, beckoning.

"Whatever you want to put in me, I can take it."

“Fuck, Bucky. What do you need?”

“I need you. Please, Sir, i need it. Give it to me. Make me yours, please.

Steve whines and it is exactly the sound of a dog in distress. He’d promised that he wouldn’t do this, take advantage, but Bucky’s gleaming asshole yawns before him, and he cannot stop himself.

“Fucking hell, Bucky, just let me -” Within seconds he’s replaced Bucky’s hands with his own and licks into him. 

A shudder runs through Bucky, and he breathes, “Finally,” as Steve stretches and sucks and laps at his ass.

He feels contentment run through him as he is claimed by his handler, _by Steve_ at last. He purrs and raises his ass higher. Steve pants into him and then his fingers are there too, alongside his tongue, pressing, rubbing.

The asset mewls in satisfaction, _he’s safe, he’s safe, he’s Steve’s,_ and pushes back against the questing digits. Steve covers his entire hole with his mouth and moans directly into him. The Asset moans with him _has he made that sound before?_ It’s unfamiliar but feels right as Steve presses a third finger into him. They both keen.

Gasping, Steve leans back, then withdraws his fingers and touches all around the puffy, reddened rim. He hooks his own finger back inside and pulls, staring fascinated at the wide open passage. “Bucky, you want this?” And it is a question, not a command, which is confusing.

No matter, the answer is still the same.

“Yes, yes, please, more.”

Steve sighs and it is heavy and guilty but he twirls his finger around the open rim again, dips inside, feeling its pucker close around him and suck him in.

“Okay, Buck.” He says quietly and pulls back once more. 

The Asset whines. “I’m so open for you, please put something in me.” And Steve goes to town on his slickened hole, other hand joining in to drag at the Asset’s cock and balls, surrounding him, inside and out. He works him toward completion, humming softly.

He never sees Steve’s cock once except for its insistent outline against his pants. When he tries to reach back for it, Steve swats his hand away and continues finger and tongue fucking him. He comes several times and it is peculiar and glorious and it isn’t until he wakes sometime in the early morning, in bed with Steve, that he remembers that his handler hadn’t let him touch his dick. He is still in a trial period. Unsafe.

_Seventeen-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

The Asset is biding his time, waiting for the proper moment. They always think that he’s a mindless automaton, and that is true, he can be, but he also has periods of lucidness where he can plan. He’d never told his handlers even as guilt had wracked him, and now he is glad of it.

He can’t always initiate actions on his own, and sometimes finds himself paused, awaiting orders. But inside he is scheming, plotting how to make sure Steve keeps him.

Since their _aborted?_ coupling, Steve has been even more tender and patient with him. He brings up times to eat, sleep, go to the bathroom, always carefully phrased as suggestions but of course Bucky listens. He is a good asset. He will not need the Chair with Steve, he hopes.

_He hopes? What is that feeling? Deleted._

He doesn’t understand the wildly vacillating directions his thoughts take.

Things were simpler with Hydra hail Hydra but nothing hurts with Steve and this is confusing. Wasn’t it his job to be hurt? To kill? Steve has not asked him to do either and it makes him nervous again.

But.

He’s actually in a position where maybe he can get out ahead. If he offers up his next debasement, humiliation, then maybe he can control his own inevitable torture a bit.

He can’t half-ass it though, they will know. He actually has to push himself to the edge of his endurance, but maybe they’ll be pleased with a little bleeding and begging, controlled, instead of terrifyingly random.

Director Pierce had always delighted when he offered himself up, initiating his own destruction.

Participating in his own degradation.

Asking for it. 

Steve comes home to find Bucky in position on the living room floor, vibrating with fear and anticipation.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. What do you need?” He tries to sound soothing as he approaches the body arranged for him on the floor.

“The Asset only needs to serve you, sir. Please make use of me.” 

"Shit, Bucky, again?!" He regrets his outburst when Bucky flinches.

“I'm sorry sir; I'll do better.”

“No Buck, that's not what I meant. Come here, get up.”

The Asset guardedly rises to his feet, stepping into the embrace of Steve’s spread arms.

“You don’t gotta do that Buck, not with me. You’re not here to be used. You’re safe here with me. Just how things are, okay? Don’t do that stuff unless you want it. Unless it feels good for you, okay?”

“If I want.”

“Yes, Buck only ever if you want. I wish there was a trigger word to let you know that too.”

“Did we? Do this? Before, I mean?” he asks Steve, not really sure what he’s actually asking.

Steve beams at him, full wattage for once. “Yes, Buck! Thank God! We did. You see, take your time, don’t offer me anything you don’t want. We’ll remember it all together. We’ll be together when you’re ready.”

The Asset frowns up at him even as he feels his body relaxing into the cocoon of Steve’s arms. He does not understand.

*************************************************************************************************************

Steve awakens to find Bucky poised at the end of the bed. 

“Oh good, you’re awake. For you, Sir,” and Bucky exhales and slowly pushes the mouth of the wine bottle into himself. He grunts when it gets to the end of the neck, panting and pausing before forcing his hole to slowly stretch around the body of the bottle. 

He whimpers. It hurts. _Keep going, you’ll get worse if you don’t put on a good show_

He slowly presses the bottle further into himself, he’s reaching the tearing point, he thinks, but he’s getting no feedback and he can’t quit until he’s told. He reaches back to feel the thin skin stretched around the glass. He can literally feel several layers of his body in turn. The meat of his globes that feel so far apart. The tiny bit of fuzz right around the ring of his muscle. Then smooth, stretched thin skin and he feels the hardness of the glass. “Sir, Sir, please, it’s too much. I’ll burst, please.”

Steve splutters, flummoxed. “That’s - oh God - that’s good, Bucky, you can stop. I’m -I’m pleased.”

He is crying again. Why? He said the Asset had pleased him. Exhaling again, he pushes the bottle out of his presented sphincter, a show for Steve. It plops onto the ground with an odd sound. He squirms. Steve makes a wrecked noise behind him. 

“Bucky, you keep - Jesus Christ - You’re gorgeous, I can’t -” And Steve fails again as he lunges for Bucky’s spread cheeks.

The bottle has stretched him beyond belief and his three fingers slip right in. “Fuck, I don’t know what to do here,” he moans, conflicted. He squelches his fingers in and out and Bucky holds position.

“If you’re not using me for my primary purpose, then let me serve my secondary function. Please. If I’m not in use, then they’ll put me back. I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you. Please.”

“Okay Buck, okay. I’m not going anywhere and no one is taking you away.” He pets over Bucky’s ass cheek, flank, leg, with his free hand.

“Then why haven’t you chained me to your bed? Do you want them to come take me?”

“I-I can’t do that Buck!”

“Why don’t you want me? Why won’t you claim me? You haven’t even given me any missions! I haven’t failed you.” He is breaking down, flooding with emotions. Everything he hasn’t felt for years, decades, comes pouring in, syrupy, heavy. His head feels sticky with thoughts, a wave.

“Please, Steve, just tell me what to do!!” Bucky’s face is red with stress and shame, sweat and tear tracked. “Just - tell me, please. Anything.” His wail drops into a whisper.

Steve swallows heavily. And gives in.

“Bucky...get...on your knees…”

“Yes, Steve, thank you.” He sinks gratefully.

He blinks up at Steve, awaiting further direction. He can see the fear and uncertainty in Steve’s brimming eyes, so he holds them and nods almost imperceptibly.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut. He looks like he’s in pain. 

“Take...out my cock.” 

He complies swiftly.

“Take hold of yours too. I am not them.” Steve hisses.

As Bucky does, he instructs, “Stroke yourself while you suck me. We come together.”

“Thank you Steve,” he breathes around the head as he sinks his mouth over Steve’s cock.

He slides back slowly up the shaft as Steve moans.

“Thank you. For getting me out.” He kisses the head. “For letting me kill Rumlow.” A kiss to the middle. “For-for doing what I need even when you don’t want to. I know it’s...not easy...to l-love me and have to hurt me.” He mouths Steve’s balls “I trust you with it Steve, with what’s left of me.”

“You’re not leftovers!” Steve snaps. “We’ll keep going till we find the rest of you. However we have to. If you feel like it. Just stay, stay with me Bucky. We’ll figure it out together.”

He doesn’t miss that this is the most communicative and coherent Bucky has been with him. With a mouth full of cock. Fuck Hydra. Damn Rumlow and Pierce, who’d better be in hell. Damn himself for continuing this, in any fashion.

Bucky moans ecstatically and breaks him out of his self flagellation. His hips thrust into Bucky’s warm mouth without his permission. Bucky slurps him down farther and moans around his shaft beatifically. 

It’s everything Steve’s wanted to see and feel, but is it wrong? Bucky’s actions say no but the trigger words pulsing in the back of both their minds point to yes.

How much of this is Bucky, how much the Asset? 

Without warning, Steve spills into Bucky’s milking mouth and the sound Bucky makes as he swallows is gratifying.

“Stay with me, Bucky, The Asset, either way, I don’t care, just stay here with me.” He whispers into Bucky’s sweaty hair. As Bucky pets at his exposed thighs, keeping Steve’s softening cock in his mouth, Steve realizes that he has everything he needs to make it happen. It’s been given to him, the way to keep Bucky. Keep him safe and keep him his. Make sure he didn’t hurt himself. Or hurt others. Lose control or lose his mind.

He was safe being Steve’s. Being directed. Being kept.

Steve would keep the protocol activated.

_Daybreak------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

He’s found that the trigger words need to be reactivated every couple of days. This is most likely due to the fact that Steve isn’t _would never_ freezing or wiping him. After a few hours of being nothing more than an empty vessel, awaiting orders or punishment, pieces of Bucky’s humanity begin to slowly seep back. He turns into a mix of confused and slutty, with occasional periods of absolute lucidity that Steve waits for longingly.

He keeps trying to push it for longer each time, until Bucky begins to malfunction. He usually knows when Bucky comes begging for his cock, ravening for it. He continues to hold that back, satisfying Bucky with hands and mouth and toys. It may be a stupid line to not cross, but Steve feels like he’s gone so far here that there needs to be some kind of limit, doesn’t there?

The days pass in more or less the same strange haze of clarity and almost frenzied sexuality from Bucky. Steve only leaves his side when he absolutely has to. Bucky is getting better though, he thinks, noting that his rational times are lasting longer and he’s mellowing out more between the words being used.

Steve doesn’t tell anyone about that part.

Unfortunately it’s during one of his lucid times that Steve realizes he needs calibration. He’s been ranging from ire to despair, crying and raging, shuffling through his thoughts and memories, and it has been days since Steve renewed the triggers’ hold on him.

“Buck, calm down. I’m here, you’re here, it’s okay.”

“How can you say it’s okay!” Bucky screams from the floor where he’s slithered out of Steve’s lap.

“That’s all over, and it’s not your fault.” 

“All of it is my fault!” He’s approaching hysterical.

“Bucky, you really need to calm down. Breathe with me.”

“I don’t want to calm down! I want - I want-”

“Whatever it is Bucky, I’ll give it to you.”

“No, you won’t! He sobs. I keep asking and you won’t give it to me. You won’t let me take your dick. Why, Steve?”

“Bucky, you know I can’t do that.”

“Do I? What I know is that you feel like you have some kind of moral authority because you won’t fuck me - ” 

“I fuck you all the time, Buck,” he says infuriatingly calmly.

“Not like I want! Not like they did!”

“And that’s why.” Steve says smoothly in that superior tone of voice.

Bucky lets out an inarticulate scream of rage.

“You don’t know what I want, Steve!”

“I think I do. But, more than that, I know what you need.”

“The hell you do, Steve, I’ll - “

“Longing. Rusted. Furnace. Daybreak - “

“Fuck you Steve! You can’t just trigger me into submission!” Bucky howls.

“That’s literally the opposite of what I’m trying to do, honey,” Steve says, and continues.

“Seventeen. Benign. Nine. Homecoming. One. Now - ” He approaches the docile Asset. Lately he’s been needing more and more to settle back to normal. Steve hums, contemplating.

“Asset, prepare yourself.” He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that watching Bucky was glorious, even though it’s tinged with guilt. His sighs match Steve’s as they watch his fingers move in and out.

“More.” Steve says, and he adds a fourth finger, gusts out happily. 

“More.” Steve says. 

He presses his thumb into his palm and his hungry ass swallows it. He chokes. Full, finally. 

“Punch fuck yourself.”

_He does and it’s glorious and he’s screaming and he’s never felt so centered in his body since it’s been torn apart and at the same time he’s flying external, watching himself, observing._

_He thrusts inside himself and it is at the same time violation and absolution. He feels, he feels so strong, and he is flying._

_Finally full._

“Thank you, Steve,” he breathes, and Steve sobs.

_Nine-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Bucky fucks himself down onto his own fist and it’s not enough. He goes in search of Steve. 

Steve has been telling him to touch himself more, to take control of his own body. Not to wait to ask Steve for things. He doesn’t understand that he wants Steve to do those things, not himself. He wants Steve to be overcome with the need to do those things. Like his handlers were, like the Hydra operatives. Then he would know that he wants him.

He tries to do the independent stuff Steve asks of him. If he was allowed to clean himself _no he was always allowed now, remember,_ then if Steve were home he would present for inspection afterwards. Always hoping, always needing.Steve kept telling him he didn’t have to do that. That Bucky was beautiful, perfect, he didn’t have to answer to anybody. But he never took him.

He did, thankfully, keep stepping it up where physical rewards were concerned. At least he kept helping him get filled up more and more. He kept increasing the things he would do when Bucky begged him. Bucky could only hope that the next time he pushed Steve, he’d get what he wanted. Claimed.

Steve never listened, and yet, Steve kept trying to get him to make choices.

Some he was grateful for.

The crop or the whip

The dildo or the plug

Mouth or ass

Some he wished Steve would just pick to save him the agony.

Chinese or pizza

Sleep in my bed or yours

Movie or read books

These choices are terrifying. He’s exhausted from trying to anticipate what Steve wants. This is too much responsibility, too many choices. It is paralyzingly overwhelming.

“Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. I’ve failed the test. Please can we return to regular protocol. Please Sir, I’ll be good.”

_I’ll be good_

He is looking for mercy.

“Yes, Asset, all right.”

As soon as he agrees, Bucky’s breathing calms. He settles into his skin in a way that shouldn’t be possible to observe. His face relaxes.

“Asset, present.”

“Yes, sir.” He blissfully assumes the position.

“Asset, if you tell me what to do to you then I will do it. Otherwise I will decide for you.”

“Please, Steve, please decide.” He is already floating out of his body and they haven’t even begun.

Finally, finally, Steve will take charge.

He fists Bucky, goes past that to arming him, really. He wants him to be able to taste him in his throat.

He withdraws his arm which is streaked with red and rust. He thrusts back in and makes a fist. Rotating. Bucky screams in pleasure and pain and comes again.

Steve adds what must be gallons of lube and says, “Relax, Bucky. Breathe.”

He begins the tortuous process of slipping his flat left hand in next to his fist.

Bucky is stretched to the max, he thinks, panting, a jeremiad wail coming from deep inside him. 

But then Steve fists the second hand, expanding him like a balloon. If this doesn’t tear him in two from the inside, he’s going to come, again.

Steve slowly moves his fists that centimeter apart. Bucky feels like his guts could slide right out his ass, he is so stretched and gaping. When Bucky comes, _again, again,_ he brings his fists as close together as he inside Bucky’s body. He manipulates Bucky like he’s a puppet and he has never felt so fulfilled. He carefully pulls his clasped fists from Bucky and the last orgasm knocks him out.

For the next few days he feels loose and open, like anything would slide right out of him. 

He's almost afraid to eat

_One--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Eventually Steve grows jealous.

He’s been fulfilling Bucky, and the Asset, and himself, if he admits, in every way except with his cock, and he’s not sure what he’s trying to prove anymore.

They’d both had their fists up his ass, for Christ’s sake. Who did he think he was fooling? Bucky was right, he was only reserving this because it made him feel better about the situation somehow, like he wasn’t taking advantage because he was holding something back.

Now it almost feels like his dick has a mind of its own, the way it’s burning for Bucky.

_Just take this last step, it’s not like it matters to anyone but you._

. 

He’s made sure that Bucky is his now, even if he loses time, even if he falls back into being the Winter Soldier. Even if he forgets everything again. He has the words to keep Bucky his.

Why deny them this last thing they want any longer?

“Bed, now, Asset.”

“Yes, Sir,” he gladly obeys.

He kneels in the center of the bed, eyes downcast, palms turned up in supplication.

“Good Asset. Remove your clothes.”

“How shall I do that, Sir?”

“Slowly. Show me you want me to see everything.”

Bucky smiles softly, acquiescing. Now he knows what to do and feels peaceful.

When he’s done stripping, he inclines forward on the bed, presenting hopefully.

It’s been days since Steve has done anything to him and he is aching for it. 

He needs to be reminded, physically and mentally, who he belongs to, who owns him, what his purpose is.

He’s been saying that aloud apparently because Steve slaps his ass and says, “Go on, then, what is your purpose?”

“To serve you.” He feels rightness settle over him, eagerly deflates.

“How do you want to do that?“

“With...my ass, please? I need it.”

“Well, if you need to be fucked that much, then you should be doing it on me. On my cock.” 

He gasps and practically purrs. “I’ve pleased you, then, Sir?”

“Bucky…” Steve scrubs at his face and tries again. “It has nothing to do with that. You’re perfect, you always have been. I don’t know what I was doing, but it was stupid, okay? I get that.”

Bucky tips his head at Steve. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either Buck. Just...be patient with me. I’m trying not to fuck everything up, but I will sometimes okay?”

“So will I.” Bucky is looking up at him and his eyes are clear, earnest. 

Steve is overjoyed. “I’m doing my best, Buck. This is hard and I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have to. I love you.”

Bucky’s hands are suddenly cupping his face. “You do? You love me? I brought it up once and you didn’t say anything.” His hands are roaming all over Steve’s body now, touching everywhere, as if a gate has been opened for him.

“Well shit, Buck, I love you, and it should be obvious. Can I show you?”

Bucky breathlessly nods as he’s moved on to kissing Steve all over, having disposed of his shirt.

“Hell, yeah, show me, Sir.” He moans. Steve freezes abruptly but Bucky flaps a hand at him. “No, no, keep going. Don’t worry about what I say, please, fuck me. Me and the Asset both want it, Steve. It doesn’t matter if I pop in and out.”

“But it does.” Steve says stubbornly, still not continuing the path toward fucking.

“No, Steve, it doesn’t! That’s what I keep trying to tell you! Listen-”

He shoves them around until he is on top of Steve, straddling him. 

“Steven Grant Rogers, you are the only person I trust -”

He muffles Steve with his hand.

“I know that I’m not always me. And I know that you have to shift to roles to accommodate that. And maybe someday we’ll find a way to fix it. But for now, you have to trust that I always know it’s you. Even when I’m deep down, Steve, even when I’m the Asset, I always want it to be you. Touching me. You’ve never hurt me.”

Steve pulls off his hand. “You don’t always want to listen, though.”

“So make me, dumbass. I know you can. Do it now. Say the words and _then_ fuck me.”

Steve gapes at him. “You _hate_ when I use them! You fight me every time.”

_“Bucky_ hates when you use them. _The Asset_ is relieved. I’ve decided to give that guy a break, he deserves it. So, go on.”

“Are you sure?”

He snorts. “Of course I’m not sure. Pal, I’m never sure about anything anymore except when you take me out of my body. So go ahead, do it. Do the Asset, and then later you can do Bucky, again. That fair, then?”

“More than.”

Everything Steve has endured up to this point, through two lifetimes to now, is worth the gist that Bucky is giving him.

He squeezes Bucky tight one more time and begins.

_“Longing…”_

  
  
  
  


  
  



End file.
